Well, it's been a while. I had a weird couple years. It's not so much having the time to write these sorts of things as much as the emotional energy. Since the last time I posted a chapter in this I have had two sons, bought a house, lost a house to bankruptcy, been through two different cars due to catastrophic mechanical failures, moved out of the suburbs, and now the day after Christmas this year my dad had a major stroke and just barely made it. After all this, I've decided all I can really do is try to channel my emotions into my writing rather than wait until I feel like I can do a better job.

I feel like I should add that my formatting on AO3 is way nicer than I can manage on FF. Somehow I can never make anything look pretty on here.

Piccolo didn't find any bodies. As odd as that was, Gohan tried not to let himself feel too hopeful that Dende and the others were still alive. After all, the Dragon Balls were inert, which couldn't mean anything good.

The Z fighters were currently meeting in the living room of Bulma's home, waiting for Goku to contact New Namek. It had taken a while to get the chaos under control and come up with a plan, but finally they decided they'd best tell the Namekians they needed the Dragon Balls again once the time was up and tell them the news of Dende.

As Goku collected all the relevant information from his friends, Gohan turned his attention to Bulma. He felt bad for her. She was biting her cuticles and looking out the window like she wanted to escape, probably for a cigarette. He knew Bulma hadn't expected things to go this spectacularly wrong when she made her wish. Gohan had realized long ago that the common thread that kept Bulma and Goku close friends was their unreasonable optimism. They both wholeheartedly believed that people were all born good, that good would always win over evil, and that everything would turn out in the end. Gohan wasn't always so sure, but he hoped anyway. That was as good as he could do.

He hoped she was right about Vegeta. Despite how they had met, Gohan had come to respect Vegeta ages ago and eventually somewhat like him.

"I can't find it!" Goku exclaimed, fingers still pressed to his forehead.

"What do you mean?" asked Piccolo.

"New Namek! I can't find it. I can't find any of the Nameks!"

"Are you sure you're looking in the right place?" Krillin asked.

"Yeah, I'm looking where I always look,"

The room was quiet for a moment, no one quite sure what to say or do.

"I'm going to talk to King Kai," Goku said, vanishing on a blur.

For several minutes, no one moved, save for awkward shuffling.

"This could take a while," Bulma announced, leaving her spot at the window. "I'm going to go check on Vegeta."

Vegeta prepared the space pod with little discretion. He could lie to himself and say he didn't want Bulma to notice he was leaving, but part of him was waiting for her to storm out of the building and demand to know what the hell he thought he was doing. No such thing happened, and now Vegeta was twice as sure as before that this was in his best interest.

He wasn't planning to stay away for long. He just couldn't stay here. He couldn't remember a time in recent memory that he'd been so overwhelmed with the need to leave. He was angry, but confronting Bulma about her ridiculous opinions of his youth would only open a can of worms he would rather stay closed. Soon, his younger self would prove to her that it was all just how he was born. Vegeta wasn't sure where that would leave them. If she'd lived all these years under the assumption that he was a victim it would explain her willingness to accept him. He'd always found it somewhat baffling that she could so easily put aside his past. Now he knew why.

He removed the fueling pump from the pod. He was taking a smaller one with enough room to train, eat, and sleep. Bulma's father had made a hobby of constructing space pods in his spare time, especially since his retirement. They were littered across the compound, hidden in various innocuous places, either disguised as things you would expect to find on the property of the filthy rich or underground inside of launching tubes.

"Dad!"

Vegeta turned, not shocked to see Trunks, but taken aback by the anger on his young son's face and coursing through his small, muscled body. The boy's power level was unstable.

"What are you doing? Are you leaving?" Trunks demanded.

Vegeta scowled, crossing his arms. He hadn't even thought of Trunks being the one to storm out and attempt to stop him. Vegeta wasn't the most empathetic creature, but even he could tell that Trunks was disgusted by what he'd learned. While normally content to verbally abuse his son, right now Vegeta mostly just wanted to get past whatever emotional outbursts were about to happen and be on his way.

"I'm taking a trip," Vegeta said shortly. "I won't be gone forever."

Some of the fight seemed to leave Trunks, but his fists remained clenched and his eyes narrow.

"I don't believe you,"

A moment of intense glaring passed.

"Take me with you," Trunks said.

Vegeta felt something uncoil in his chest. His son had learned of his past and while he obviously did not approve, he still wanted to be with him. Vegeta didn't know what that meant or what to do about it, but the part of him that had been slowly burning away inside him cooled a bit.

"I don't suppose you're packed?" Vegeta asked.

"I mean it, Dad, you can't go without - wait," Trunks eyes lit up and the anger melted away. "You mean you don't mind?"

"Just hurry and be back in five minutes. And don't tell your mother,"

That seemed to give Trunks pause, his eyebrows drawing back down and his mouth straightening into a thin line, but he nodded and disappeared into the house almost as if by instant transmission. Vegeta sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Why the fuck did I do that?" he mumbled to himself before resuming his preparations.

Bulma peered through the doorway of the room she'd banished Vegeta to after his destructive morning. She was at a complete loss. She wasn't sure what she'd expected when she made her wish, but the child shaped equivalent of sticking her arm inside a hornets nest certainly wasn't it.

The boy was still, rigidly sitting in the armchair Krillin had deposited him in. Bulma had left him with the command of 'sit still, be quiet, and don't use your ki'. She felt guilty for bringing him here and just to abandon him, but the disappearance of the Dragon Balls and the Lookout had taken precedent.

He appeared calm on her first impression, but at closer look, he was systematically pulling fibers from the chair's arm, and flicking them into a pile of them to the floor. Once through the upholstery, he started in on the stuffing, which soon littered the carpet. Even at his least iniquitous, he destroyed whatever was available. His facial expression was at odds with his actions, almost vacant.

She watched him until a good portion of the unfortunate armchair had been gutted allowing thoughts to slowly percolate through her mind. Her own son, while not violent, did possess an alarming amount of energy. Neither Trunks or Goten could really sit still for long without jittering or tapping, but never had either of them done something so… repetitive. His actions were unusually repetitive. It almost reminded her of an assistant she'd had years ago who'd been diagnosed with Obessive Compulsive Disorder.

Somehow she doubted that was it. Vegeta was persnikety, but she didn't think he ever did anything that seemed OCD. The wooden skeleton of the chair was exposed now, and he was already digging a hole with the tips of his fingers, but his glazed over eyes seemed unaware of his hand's quest to destroy her furniture.

"Would you like something to eat," she asked finally, arms crossed and trying to keep the deep worry and fear out of her voice.

His hand froze, but otherwise he made no indication that he'd heard her.

"I'll bring you something. I want you to eat it and then use the restroom connected to this room. After that lay on the bed and try to sleep," she said.

She turned and walked away from him before she could see how he reacted and tried to push down the encroaching panic and guilt.

Vegeta watched the blue haired woman walk away. It galled him to no end that he hadn't noticed her approach, but it had been days now since he'd last had a decent meal and his head felt stuffed and foggy at the same time.

Before he had really managed to process what she'd said, she was back before him with something that smelled an awful lot like food. His eyes twitched to the platter she held in front of him, then involuntarily up to her face and down again. The food was a variety of fruits, vegetables, and meats he didn't find familiar, so he reluctantly turned his nose up at it.

"I could order you to eat this, you know?" she said. "But I won't unless I really have to. I just want you to eat, if I wanted you dead I'd have much easier ways of doing it than poisoning you."

She emphasized her point by taking a bite out of a crunchy, red fruit. It's insides were white and glistened with juice and his stomach let loose a sudden, powerful growl. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing, holding it out to him while balancing the platter with the rest of the food in her other hand. He snatched it and brought it to his face, inhaling deeply. It smelled sweet and fresh. When was the last time he'd had fresh food? He took a bite and chewed, finding himself savoring the sweet and tart taste on his tongue. He hadn't tasted anything like it since Vegeta-sei had been destroyed when he was a child. He devoured it and grabbed the entire tray from the woman, who stepped away to clean the pile of fluff off the floor.

He watched her warily, only sparing her enough attention to be sure where she was in the room at all times. She may have had ultimate control over him, but it was a habit he wouldn't be breaking any time soon, regardless of it's current usefulness. He'd learned the hard way not to take his eye off the enemy.

Movement abruptly materialized in the corner of the quiet room, the man from when he'd first been transported to this asinine world appearing from thin air. Vegeta couldn't entirely stop the flinch that ripped through him and he dropped what was left of his food to the floor and ignored it like he'd done it on purpose.

"Bulma, we need to talk," the man said, his face stern and serious.

The blue haired woman scowled at the bones, cores, and rinds of the food scattered on the carpet, but nodded.

"Go to the bathroom, use the toilet, and clean up. Take a shower. Everything is digital, you should understand how it works. By the time you're done there should be some clothes waiting for you in this room. Get dressed and go to bed."

Her tone left it clear that this was all an order, not a suggestion.

"The bathroom is right across the hall. Go as soon as I leave. Don't go anywhere but the bathroom and this room."

With those parting words, she left with the man. Vegeta couldn't remember his name, but he seemed oddly familiar. He appeared Saiyan-like, but there were many species that were saiyanoid. He didn't have a tail, so Vegeta dismissed it.

As soon as the woman was gone, he found himself on his feet and moving towards the doorway. All the muscles in his body stiffened as he tried to command them, making them ache and twitch, but his body never slowed. Outside of the room was a quiet, unoccupied hallway with a dim overhead light fixture and several other doors to the right of him. To the left was the end of the hallway where a wooden table took up most of the wall, decorated with an opaque glass pitcher containing a bouquet of yellow flowers.

He continued into the room directly adjacent the one he'd just exited. It was very similar to the latrines on Freiza's bases. He relieved himself as ordered, irritation and a bit of panic flaring in his chest at not even having control over his own bladder. He took off his clothes and stepped into the shower. The digital screen on the wall blinked to life with blue light and hot water sprayed from the ceiling without his input.

Regardless of the circumstances, it did feel good to get clean and he found himself scrubbing away dirt and blood from his hair and body with disgustingly fragrant soaps that smelled of dead plants. His untreated wounds that had been aching beneath his clothing stung, but none were infected.

The mission he had been on before being sent here had been brutal. The creature, whatever it was, had been terrifying, even to him, and he had seen a lot of scary things. As pissed as he was to be where he was, it was undeniably better than where he had been. He had a full stomach. He was warm and clean. It was all foreign feeling.

He was still angry. He still wanted to blast the stupid bitch's head off and get the hell out off this ridiculous planet. He'd had enough of taking orders he couldn't refuse in his lifetime and at least then he had been able to scheme and plot his revenge. He didn't know how to defeat his own mind and body and that was as horrifying as the creature he'd been struggling to survive against before.

He finished his shower, dried himself, and walked back to his room naked. There he found a soft pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that were both only slightly large on him. He turned the light to the room off and curled up on the bed, not bothering to climb under the covers.

She hadn't ordered him to sleep, only to go to bed. Well, he was in bed. He sat up, relieved that he wasn't forced into unconsciousness. Staring into the darkness, he let himself pout. His body felt better than he could remember it ever feelings, even accounting for the muscle aches from fighting the bitch's orders and the bruises and cuts left over from his mission. He leaned his back against the wooden headboard, reluctant to lay down, despite having nothing else to do. It wasn't long before he found himself dropping off to sleep while sitting up and he allowed himself to drift into a light doze.

He'd blast her face in as soon as he figured out how. For now, he'd just dream of it.

"King Kai thinks something came through time with Vegeta," Goku said with little preamble once the group had reassembled. "There isn't really any way to know what it was for sure, but he knows of creatures that eat ki and magic. Something like that could definitely take down the Lookout."

"What about New Namek?" Bulma asked.

"It seems like the timing is too precise to be a coincidence," Piccolo said, arms crossed and leaned casually against the back of the couch where Gohan sat so that his back was to the young man.

"But how did it get from there to here so fast?" Krillin asked.

"Maybe it can teleport," Yamcha added.

Gohan listened, but didn't have much to add. Whatever it was, they didn't have any idea what they were dealing with or what to do about it. They were just guessing.

"Has anyone checked on Buu?" asked Videl from her spot next to Gohan.

"I can still feel his ki," Gohan responded. "He's not actively doing anything with it, but he seems fine."

The room lapsed into a tense silence. There had been a lot of that lately.

"Has anyone seen Vegeta?" asked Bulma. "Or Trunks? I thought they would be here for this."

"You know, now that you mention it, I haven't noticed their ki around here recently," Goku said, looking around as if they were hiding in the room.

"They left," said Goten from the doorway, where he had apparently been listening in on the adult's conversation. "They took a space pod. Trunks left me a note."

He held the note out and Bulma took it from him. She cursed and stormed out of the room, taking the paper with her. Gohan shook his head. There was no way she could have predicted the cascade of consequences that her wish had brought, but Vegeta's reaction was the one thing she should have been expecting.

"Thank you for telling us, Goten," Gohan told his brother.

"Yeah," Goten said, his eyes downcast. "Is Trunks going to be in trouble?"

"I don't think so. He's with his dad, so Bulma will probably be more mad at Vegeta."

"I don't know if she can afford to get attitude with Vegeta at this point. I don't blame him for being mad," Krillin said as he twisted and spun a Dragon Ball Radar around on Bulma's coffee table, his legs crossed under him on the floor. "I mean, I understand Bulma's intentions, but there had to be a less crazy way to do this."

"I helped her with this," Goku said. "It's as much my fault as it is her's."

"I don't know if he's just mad at her for the wish," Gohan said, running his hands through his hair with a deep sigh. "I felt his ki fluctuate and then leave when Bulma was having it out with the other Vegeta. I don't know how well he would take to being called a slave. I just don't know what she's thinking anymore. There is no way a Vegeta in any time or universe would see himself that way."

"Isn't it true though? From the way I've heard things, Vegeta never wanted to work for Frieza," asked Videl.

"It wasn't exactly that. If I were to call him anything, I would say he was a child soldier," Gohan explained. "He was a warrior and I think there was definitely elements of control and manipulation on Frieza's part, but I remember the other soldiers from Frieza's army we ran into on Namek. There was a culture of violence and he was raised in it."

"Even before then he was raised in a violent culture. The Saiyans were violent," Yamcha pointed out.

"When he was dying he told me Frieza made the Saiyans fight for him," Goku said, his eyes distant. "He said that Frieza threatened his father if he didn't do whatever he told him to do. He at least didn't start out doing everything he did willingly."

"For now, this is the least of our problems," Piccolo interjected.

"Yeah, but we've kind of run out of clues here," Krillin countered.

The room was left in a moody silence once again. They weren't used to having so little to work off of. Usually their problems were bold and easy to punch back into order. After a moment of hard thinking, Gohan felt he had an idea for where they might find something to grab on to.

"Maybe the other Vegeta noticed something when he was wished here," he said. "Since Bulma's busy, I'm going to go talk to him."

Trunks watched his father as he ignored the fifth attempt his mother made to call them. It was odd. He knew his dad was upset, but he'd never seen him so reluctant to jump into a fight, be it verbal or physical. He had expected his dad to jump immediately into high gravity training, but so far Trucks had just watched as his dad organized their living space and then sit staring vacantly at the controls.

They didn't have a destination yet. Apparently they were just moving away from their problems.

Before the signal ended, his father let out a frustrated grunt and allowed the call through.

"What the hell, Vegeta!?" His mother's blue head exploded loudly on to the large com screen over the control panel. "You kidnap my son and then don't even take my calls? I wasn't even sure he was with you!"

The face his father made wasn't so much a frown as a flinch, Trunks assumed at the volume, but it was still weird. Trunks really had expected his father's reaction to his mother's wish and it's results would be more, well, angry. If Trunks had been younger, a little less observant, he would probably still think his father was just angry. But the past few months since Buu, Trunks had paid more attention to his father and the meanings behind the things he did.

He knew his father well enough by now that he was sure his father was actually hurt.

He couldn't say for sure why, exactly, but there it was.

"Woman, it hasn't even been three hours," Vegeta groused, not even reaching half the volume Bulma had, rubbing at his forehead with his fingers and palm.

Bulma's frown transformed from angry to concerned. "Do you have a headache again? If you're getting one of those headaches, Vegeta, you need to come home."

"No, I'm fine," he said, dropping his hand.

She lowered her decibels, nonetheless. "Still, we could really use you guys here. New Namek is just gone. Goku and King Kai think something came through time along with the rest of the wish."

Vegeta stared at the screen, his face mostly blank, like he wasn't really processing what she was saying.

"What do they think it is?" Trunks asked, stepping up next to his father.

"Trunks! Do you know how much trouble you're in mister?" Her giant head tilted as if she had to move to see him.

"What? Why? I'm with Dad, shouldn't he be the one in trouble?"

"And he is, but you know better by now than to take off into parts of the galaxy unknown without telling your mother!"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. But tell me what King Kai said," he rubbed the back of his head; he kind of felt bad for worrying her, but she also kind of deserved it.

"We don't know much yet. Just that he and the other kais felt a weird energy around the same time I made my wishes. It's the only lead we have."

When she talked about making the wish she looked as close to regretful as Trunks thought he'd ever seen her. It brought him a little closer towards forgiving her, but he wasn't sure how much more it would take. He really did understand her motivations, but couldn't someone have at least talked to him about this? He was blindsided! Anyone would be upset at getting hit in their face by their parent's apparently genocidal past without a word of warning from anyone. Trunks wasn't even sure if he was mad she'd made the wish as much as being lied to his entire life.

"You'll inform us if you learn anything new," Vegeta said, not quiet a request and not quiet a demand. "We'll return shortly."

Bulma's eyes studied her husband intently, then she nodded, her mouth a grim line.

"Fine. Stay in touch and don't ignore my calls anymore. Be safe. Love you, Trunks!"

She waved at him and then the screen went black. Trunks tried not to worry too much about the tears in her eyes.

After a moment of quiet, Vegeta got up from the controls and moved towards the metal ladder that led down into the sleeping area.

"Wait, Dad?"

Vegeta paused and turned to look at Trunks with tired, bloodshot looking eyes. Trunks tried to see what his mother might have seen. His dad was rapidly looking sicker and sicker, like a time-lapsed wilting cabbage.

"Are you really okay? What are these headaches Mom was talking about? Do you have one now?" Trunks rapid fired and noticed his dad's posture change from exhausted to more upright, as if he hadn't realized he was collapsing into himself.

"I'll be fine, boy. I'm not the first person to ever get a migraine. You may train on your own, but keep it down. I'll be sleeping."

He slipped down the ladder, not even floating or jumping, but actually climbing. Trunks eyes lingered on the closed hatch for a moment before shaking his head and turning to the gravity machine. At least one of them could train.